


I Wanna Boy Who Knows Exactly What He Needs

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: The Shadow Fucking One-Shots [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Consentacles, Fondling, M/M, Oral, Penetration, Semi-Public Sex, Shadow magic, Teasing, Tentacles, sex by proxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: There, between his legs, weren’t just some tendrils of teasing show-off control, but an entire shape. A figure. Fully formed and entirely humanoid. Peter Pan’s naughty shadow.Only this was worse because it wasAl’s fucking shadow.Alastor and Angel make a deal.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: The Shadow Fucking One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100519
Comments: 33
Kudos: 225





	I Wanna Boy Who Knows Exactly What He Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hazbin Hotel Comic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/740319) by psychicpains on Twitter. 



> Based on the glorious first part of @psychicpains' [sexy lil comic](https://twitter.com/psychicpains/status/1346690589975146496) (and used as inspiration with artist's permission!)

_I shouldn’t’ve provoked ‘im._

The thought was flashing like a fucking tsunami siren in Angel’s brain over and over as he tried to lift his cup and set it back to the saucer without spilling coffee out of it. Or rattling the china. Or drawing any _more_ goddamn attention to the fact that he was losing his own damn bet.

He supposed he shouldn’t have taken it for granted just how sneaky that bastard could be. Alastor was so rarely genuinely _underhanded_ that Angel forgot that he was a demon just like the rest of them. Worse, actually, because he was _powerful._ And shifty. And _not playing fair._

“Whatever seems to be the matter, my dear?” Alastor asked, cradling his own cup against a palm. Angel glared at him. The radio demon’s smile grew even wider. “Could it be you’re having second thoughts?”

Angel flipped him the bird, his free hands digging harder into the table or the meat of his arms as he did. He just needed to hold out a little longer. It wasn’t like he _couldn’t do it._ He’d survived Hell, for fuck’s sake! Not only survived, he’d thrived in it. Long before Alastor, and the hotel, and _this fucking morning_ …

\-- this fucking morning --

“Al,” Angel flopped himself over the bar, next to where Alastor was having his morning coffee, flipping through one of the many newspapers Hell offered. Journalists had to work somewhere, after all, and there was an abundance of them down here. “Seriously, you’ve gotta get me outta this bullshit goodie two-shoes exercise Charlie has planned.”

“I see no reason why I should do any such thing,” Alastor replied, flipping the page. Angel groaned.

“Come _onnnn,_ Al!”

“You’re on your way to redemption, are you not?” Alastor asked him, not even looking over.

“I’m on my way to losing my fucking mind more like,” Angel snapped back. “She wants us to start a community garden, Alastor. In _Hell.”_

Husker’s laugh was bright and far too loud. When Angel attempted to glare at him as well, the demon just shrugged.

“Hey, I ain’t here getting _redeemed,_ pretty boy, I just work here.”

“And you’re doing a _fine_ job of it, Husker!” Al quipped.

“Go fuck yourself, Al,”

“Alastooooor!” Angel whined. “Please? I’ll do anything okay?”

“Anything?”

“Yes!” Angel perked up at the interest. “Yes, seriously, ain’t nothing I haven’t seen or done before, fucking name it, I can--”

“Can you sit still for a pleasant brunch in the sun?” Alastor cut him off smoothly, bringing the coffee cup to his lips again.

“Can I fucking _what?”_

“Sit still,” Alastor repeated, finally turning to look at him, smile on at full brightness. “And keep that _adorable_ mouth of yours shut until we’re through?”

“You wanna go on a date?”

“No,” Alastor laughed, “no, don’t be silly. No, I want to see if you can actually keep quiet, be prim and proper and _pretty_ for more than a few moments.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “How long?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to _tax_ you too terribly. Perhaps an hour. One hour in my company without saying a word or fidgeting about.”

“You know I’m from the same time period you are, right?” Angel asked. “There’s barely a decade between us. I’ve done the whole ‘prim and proper mealtimes’ thing.”

“Then you should have no trouble proving it.”

Angel snorted. “Right. You want me to bring you your slippers and the paper when you come home from work, too?” He fluttered his lashes, knowing Alastor was immune to such flirtations and yet relishing the slightest twitch of his ever-present smile. 

“I just want to see your charming self on his best behavior,” Alastor said. “Dress nicely, would you?”

Angel glanced down at his outfit, his very best suit and bowtie. “I _always_ dress nicely,” he said, affronted.

Alastor merely raised an eyebrow, and the challenge in that simple expression had fired Angel up.

He’d gone all out. If Alastor wanted a pleasant brunch, he would _get_ a pleasant fucking brunch. Angel dressed himself in a pale pink summer dress, with lace edging and a big bow tied behind his neck, and did up his makeup with the subtlest of touches. He fluffed up his chest to fill out the outfit properly, the effect straddling that line between _endowed_ and _obscene_ without quite crossing it. He even tied back his hair, the flowers on the hairband adding a touch more elegance to the whole look. 

He looked, as the men would have said in his time (had he been able to get away with such a look), like an absolute _doll._ He met Alastor out in the yard with a smile on his face, as perfectly sweet as he could manage to be at his towering height

“There, now that’s just _lovely_ isn’t it?” Alastor said, offering his arm for Angel to take. He snorted but complied, draping his own over it. “I’ve arranged something _prim and proper_ for us in the garden.”

“I thought Charlie was working in the garden?” Angel replied. Alastor hummed the affirmative, and Angel rolled his eyes. “I thought we were gonna get _outta here_ to avoid this whole stupid exercise?”

“You thought wrong, my dear,” Alastor grinned. “The garden is quite large enough for all of us to share.”

Angel couldn’t quite figure this guy out. The longer they’d been in the hotel together, the more of a sense of humor Alastor had seemed to grow, when it came to Angel. He was a lot of fun to torment and tease when he quipped back; one of the few in the hotel that Angel could be outright mean to without hurting their feelings.

But there had also grown a sort of… affection? Between them? And Angel could _sometimes_ admit he was wrong, especially when it came to a handsome fucker who he still wanted to rail him something fierce.

And he did.

He really did.

And Alastor knew it; Angel made it a point to remind him any chance he got.

“So what do I get if I win?” Angel asked. Alastor turned to look at him, amused.

“There can be a greater reward than my company?”

“Ha. Ha.” Angel rolled his eyes again. “Yes. Always. How bout… if I win, and can keep quiet, you take me back to your room and fuck me.”

Alastor considered him a moment before stopping them under a strange looking fruit tree and releasing Angel from his arm.

“Would you like to make a deal?”

“I guess, yeah,” Angel grinned. “I keep quiet for the hour you wanna keep me here, and you take me to bed and fuck me senseless.”

Alastor blinked, tilted his head, and held out his hand. A spark, bright and green and wild, turned into a flame that circled them, and Angel raised an eyebrow.

“Dramatic much?” but he took his hand regardless. He felt something zip through him, something like electricity, but sweeter, warmer, something that didn’t leave an aftertaste in his mouth. The deal was struck. “So when does the hour start? Don’t ya pull a fucking fast one on me and say it’s already started and I lost, yer not that cheap.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. No, we will start once we take our seats.”

Alastor-- or, more likely, Niffty-- had gone all out. There was a single round table over by the hedges, draped in a long, cream-coloured tablecloth that grazed the grass. It had been set with a delicate china tea set, bone white with golden embellishments that glimmered in the morning sun. At the side was a golden tiered tray, ladened with a number of pastries. Alastor had said brunch, and didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so either Niffty had set this up just for Angel, or Alastor had gone out of his way to request things he would like.

Either way, Angel was unexpectedly touched. 

“One hour?” Angel checked.

“One hour of polite silence over coffee, or tea if you prefer, just enjoying each other’s company. No bored sighs, no groans, no sass. Just a pleasant hour.” Alastor’s smile was always set on its widest, but now it seemed to stretch, tugging at the corners, sharp and hungry. 

“Alright,” Angel said with a shrug. “Ya act like I’ve never been quiet before.”

“Have you?” Alastor asked mildly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Angel scowled at him, but before he could reply, Alastor neatly sidestepped him to pull his chair out. 

“After you, my dear.”

Angel pressed his lips together and made a show of adjusting his skirts when he sat down. He could be quiet. It wasn’t that fucking hard to be quiet. He’d just keep eating, if it became too difficult. Couldn’t talk if his mouth was busy, after all, and there was a huge array of things to eat on the table, it wouldn’t even be cheating if he used that tactic.

“Coffee?” Alastor asked. Angel frowned, but nodded. That was a yes or no question, he could answer it, though it was clear that Alastor was taking enormous pleasure in reminding Angel that he couldn’t actually _speak._

Angel waited for Alastor to pour the coffee, even let him select the first pastry for Angel to try -- it was covered in strawberries and almost matched his dress -- before starting in.

It wasn’t that hard to be fucking quiet, goddamn. Who did Alastor think he was? Some kid with ADHD? Angel could be _quiet._ He was an adult and well in control of his faculties. He didn’t even need to cheat, this would be _easy._ Piece of pie. And then he’d have Alastor take him to his room and fuck him silly.

Coz it wasn’t hard to stay quiet. Quiet was zen, and Angel was the zen _master._

Alastor had helpfully set an antique stopwatch to the table so they could both keep time, and when Angel looked over he was astounded to see that a grand total of two and a half minutes had passed since they’d sat down.

Alastor had to be fucking with that watch, there was no way…

Alastor opened a newspaper -- another one, different publication, this one from the ring of Sloth, apparently, it wasn’t very big -- and snapped it into position before taking up his own cup of coffee.

The coffee was good, the dessert even better, but there were only so many dainty little bites Angel could take. He was used to playing a role, acting out the part requested of him, but this… 

There were parts of this that called to him. A need to please, which he often denied himself. A need to be pretty, and desirable, and appreciated for both of those things. 

But it was just… just…

Just so _dull!_

Angel hadn’t stopped moving since he learned to walk. When he’d died, he’d hit the ground running, throwing himself onto every possible stage. Alastor wasn’t even _looking_ at him, just enjoying his coffee and his _newspaper_. 

Angel bit back a huff, certain it would be counted against him, and poked halfheartedly at the pastry crumbs on his plate. Six minutes. _Six_ . And he was already done with the delicate, _tiny_ strawberry concoction. 

“Would you like another?”

Angel glanced up, opening his mouth, and then shutting it again. He gave a stiff nod, and Al selected a small slice of cake for him to try. There were still a dozen more desserts on the rack, and Al hadn’t even had any yet. By the time the hour was up, Angel would probably have eaten them all.

Something soft tickled the inside of his knee. Angel swatted at it absentmindedly. A fly, perhaps. Some sort of irritating hell gnat. But then it brushed his leg again, and when he tried to pull his leg away, he found it held fast by something wrapping around his calf.

There was no rule against looking down so Angel did. Only to find a shadow wrapped around him. He frowned, and tried to kick it off again, but it only wrapped a little higher up his leg in answer.

When he looked up at Alastor, he hadn't seemed to notice at all, and Angel _knew_ that was bullshit. He'd seen those damn things confer with each other, with Alastor, more times now than he could count, and there was no way in literal Hell he wasn't controlling it now.

Angel reached out, setting a finger to the top of the newspaper and deliberately drew it down, scrunching the paper beneath it, until Alastor looked at him.

"A refill?" He asked, casual as anything. That fucking--

Angel pointed down emphatically with one hand, as two others attempted to gesticulate just how unfair the shadow magic shit was just then. Alastor just tilted his head.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, my dear,"

Angel flipped him off. Almost immediately he felt another shadow curl around his other leg.

_God fucking dammit._

Attempting to free his limbs only encouraged a tighter grip, until he was immobilized from the hips down, legs immodestly spread. Angel tightened one hand into a fist, glowering as Alastor poured him more coffee.

“Sugar?” Alastor offered. Angel said nothing. Alastor dropped three cubes into the coffee, regardless-- exactly the way Angel liked his coffee, not that he’d expected Alastor to know that. 

That Angel did not immediately catch on could be blamed on his incredibly low expectations. He and Alastor flirted, they bantered. They didn’t _touch_.

So, when Angel’s skirt began to creep up his thighs, he at first thought it was an accident, overeager tentacles getting a bit out of hand with Alastor’s focus on his newspaper. With his lower set of hands, Angel smoothed out his skirt, folding it back over his knees.

Within a minute, it had begun to creep up again, centimeter by centimeter. With a near-silent huff, Angel adjusted it once more, batting away wayward shadows.

The skirt was shoved all the way up to his hips in one quick push. Angel sucked in a breath, startled. 

\-- right fucking now --

_I shouldn’t’ve provoked ‘im._

“I’m sorry, did you take milk too?” Alastor asked him, innocent as anything. Angel wanted to groan at him, to scream at him, to screw this entire goddamn bet because Alastor wasn’t even playing _fair,_ but he didn’t. Instead he shook his head quickly and pressed a hand against his lips, keeping the soft sounds of surprise from escaping him as the shadow-limbs tickled the insides of his thighs.

He took three deep breaths and ventured his gaze beneath the table again.

There, between his legs, weren’t just some tendrils of teasing show-off control, but an entire shape. A figure. Fully formed and entirely humanoid. Peter Pan’s naughty shadow.

Only this was worse because it was _Al’s fucking shadow._ Alastor, who never liked being touched, who seemed to refuse any and all sexual come-ons, who seemed uninterested in Angel at _all_ beyond the fact that he was _entertaining_ as part of the hotel’s decor.

And suddenly _this!_ This goddamn facsimile kissing its way up Angel’s legs like Angel had _dreamed_ of Alastor doing for _weeks._ What the fuck did this all mean? Angel desperately wanted to ask him, and so, to not lose the bet because he could be quiet for a fucking _hour,_ for fuck’s sake, he shoved the piece of cake Al had set to his place wholesale into his mouth instead.

This was a terrible idea, it turned out. It had been a small piece of cake, but not _that_ small, and not moist enough to keep from being cloying and thick. It took a good bit of chewing to make manageable, and Angel was still working on it when shadowy fingers wrapped themselves up in his panties and tugged them to the side. 

Angel nearly choked. 

“Manners, dear boy,” Alastor said, without looking up from his paper. “Let’s be a bit more decorous in our bites, hmm?”

Angel resisted the urge to upend the tea pot into Alastor’s lap, clenching his upper hands in the table cloth. With his lower set, he attempted to bat the sneaky little tendrils away from his thighs.

“Did you say something?” Alastor asked, glancing up. His eyes locked on Angel’s, and Angel saw the offer for what it was: A way out, a chance to decline.

But Angel had never backed down from a challenge before. He shook his head, glowering.

Shadowy tendrils encased the wrists of his lower arms and pulled them away, holding them in place by his hips. 

He made a soft sound, a helpless little huff, and looked up at the sky.

Angel had had his fair share of unwanted advances, of unwelcome touches, of being held down and groped when he’d rather be anywhere else, but this felt… different. Sure, Al was being a _fucking asshole_ and could have done this _fucking sooner_ if this was his final play, and definitely not in the middle of a fun bet between friends, _but._

But.

His touches -- by proxy or not -- felt warm, they didn’t feel like cold sweat against skin like Val’s smoke did. The way he teased now, tendrils feeling so much like actual fingers, made Angel’s stomach do flips and his entire body tremble. This felt _nice._

And the added challenge of staying quiet while this was happening, for another -- he ducked his head and looked at the watch before groaning and taking up his cup to drink some coffee -- forty-two minutes, just made it all the more erotic.

 _Erotic._ Look at him, talking like some fucking high end escort or some shit, Satan below.

Meanwhile, below the _table_ , something licked a steady, tickling line up Angel’s cock. He tucked his feet behind the chair legs and let his knees fall open a little wider.

If this was going to happen, he might as well enjoy it. It didn’t seem like Al intended to stop unless Angel explicitly told him to, and that was _never_ gonna happen. He’d wanted this for too long.

It felt like a mouth against him, panting hot air over his glans, a damp tongue teasing it’s way up and down. Angel shuddered, and his cock stood at attention, hard so quick from so little. He wanted to blame it on a sudden unprecedented lack of stimulation: he’d been laying low at the hotel, avoiding his previous career choices, and it had been a few weeks since anyone besides _himself_ had done any exploring down there. 

But if he was honest with himself, that wasn’t it at all. It was _Al_ , and Angel’s hunger for him. Angel had wanted him from the beginning. Maybe because he was unfairly pretty in a world of the warped, maybe it was because he was something Angel couldn’t have, but Angel had _wanted_ him, and now…

“Fff…” The facsimile of a mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, tentacles guiding Angel to shift forward on the chair for better access. It worked its way down, down, no gag reflex to speak of, taking Angel all the way into wet heat. Angel hissed out a breath, barely catching the sound that lingered on the tip of his tongue. Alastor gave him a disapproving frown. 

“Manners,” he said mildly. “Here, have another pastry.”

Angel didn’t want another pastry. He wanted to bury his hands in the shadowy mess beneath the table and fuck forward until he was spilling all over the creature’s mock-face. 

“Oh, and Angel?” Alastor said, pushing a plate of pie a bit closer to Angel’s clenched fists. “It would be the _height_ of rudeness to _finish_ early and leave me before our hour is up.”

Angel glared at him, words and curses and sarcasm trapped behind his pursed lips. Between his legs, the shadows pulled back and away, and Angel gasped out before clapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. He watched Alastor for any sign that this would be seen as ‘cheating’ or ‘talking’ or ‘fidgeting’, but the radio demon seemed, if anything, _pleased_ by the turn of events. As pleased as Angel, if not more.

Deviant bastard.

Fine.

If sounds were acceptable, then Angel would make those. Right there, in the garden, where anyone could hear or see if they looked out. If Alastor wanted a scene out of Harry met fucking Sally he’d get one; the whole fucking hotel would be jealous.

He twisted one of his lower hands in the grip that held him, gently, enough to suggest he wasn’t struggling but needed to move, and the pressure eased enough to let him free himself. Angel tried to reach blindly for where the head of the creature should have been, but found it falling through air.

So he couldn’t touch him back. Well that was a definite fuck-you-wrench in his plan. But not the end of the world. Angel returned his hand to settle at his thigh, touching himself where the shadows weren’t, making the sensation even more pleasurable. He took up his fork to cut the pie, and deliberately placed the morsel into his mouth. He watched Alastor as he slid the fork free of his lips, before sucking it in again to tongue it clean.

Beneath the table, between his legs, Alastor’s shadow-twin returned to sucking Angel’s cock, keeping pace with his teasing above.

It was as if Alastor was entirely unaffected, unphased by the teasing forays of Angel’s tongue. As if there was nothing at all Angel could do to make this just as difficult for _him_ as it was for Angel. 

And yet he was attentive, beyond so. He seemed to be everywhere, up and down Angel’s thighs, licking and sucking at the head of his cock, tiny tendrils of shadow probing at all his sensitive places. A little wisp slid higher and higher up his thigh, past his balls, to probe at his entrance, and Angel dropped his fork with a clatter. 

He gave Alastor an incredulous look, attempting to close his thighs and finding the shadows solidified in response, holding him open. Another of the pesky things worked his panties down his thighs and tugged him closer to the edge of his seat.

Here, right here in the _garden?_ With nothing at hand? Angel had been fucked through worse, but it was unexpected of _Alastor_ , who seemed to actually care about things like ‘propriety’ and ‘being considerate to your goddamn partner.’

But Angel had worried for nothing. The next pass of the shadow tentacle was slick, a steadily increasing pressure that slipped into him so easily. Angel clapped a hand over his mouth, whimpering. 

“My, you’ve gone quite pink, haven’t you?” Alastor said, closing the newspaper and folding it in half before setting it to the table. “Perhaps the sun had not been the best idea for our picnic, hmm?”

Angel sucked in a breath through his nose and gave Alastor a desperate look. He wasn’t going to give up just because he was _blushing._ God fucking damn, he was going to sit this out and win this stupid bet and demand that Alastor take him to bed and recreate what his _filthy_ shadow was currently doing.

He looked to the watch. Twenty-eight minutes left. And he was close, he was really close to coming and he _wanted to…_

The tendrils slid free of him, the tickling tongue pulled away, and Angel was left bereft and panting, and _needy…_ he bounced in his seat like a petulant little kid and glared at Alastor who seemed entirely unmoved by the display. And what was he even looking at if all the action was happening beneath the table? What the fuck was he getting off on?

Angel reached for his cup and nearly spilled it as the shadow-creature set its teeth to Angel’s thigh and slowly started to bite down.

“Ah--” that was nearly too much of a sound. Alastor’s eyes flicked to his, a smirk scrawled across his face. Angel bit down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. 

“I’m nearly done, if you wanted a turn,” Alastor offered magnanimously, shaking the paper out as if shaking wrinkles from a shirt. Angel was sure he was even redder now, and he ducked his head, staring down at the table.

The shadow, intangible as it was whenever Angel reached for it, had sharp teeth. It left a trail of bruises up and down Angel’s thighs, lingering over every place that made him squirm. Angel’s cock was straining against his belly, the head leaking. He felt empty, clenching down around nothing as he was tormented. 

God. Less than half an hour. He could make that, surely? He’d been fucked for longer, and in far more arduous ways.

Soft little touches snuck their way up his thighs again, inch by inch. Angel spread himself wide, obscene, practically begging for it with every tilt of his hips. He didn’t know if Alastor could see the things his shadows saw beneath the table, but surely, _surely_ he had to see the invitation for what it was. 

Angel arched his back, two hands clenched on the table as another pressed to his stomach, as though that would help the tingling tickling sensation from spreading higher. He tilted his head back, offered his long throat for Alastor’s eyes to devour.

And he could _feel_ that look, could _feel_ how carefully Alastor examined him, even though he looked just as indifferent, just as bored, when Angel looked at him again. How did he do that? How did he manage to be so unaffected while Angel was being edged so expertly he was losing his goddamn mind?

The teasing stopped again, just goddamn vanished, when Angel was so close to the edge he could taste it. He sucked in a breath.

“You’re not eating, my dear,” Alastor said after a while, and Angel glowered at him. How the fuck could he _eat_ in this condition?? He wanted to get _fucked,_ to get absolutely _railed,_ and he only had to wait another--

Eighteen minutes.

_Eighteen minutes??_

“Here,” Alastor took up his own fork, which hadn’t touched a single cake, pastry, or pie on display, and dug it into the side of a chocolate tart on the stand. Then he held it out to Angel, innocent as anything. “Open up.”

Angel nearly upended the table, because beneath it, the shadow wrapped its lips around his cock again, and a slick tendril slipped into him and started to widen, stretching him just a little.

Angel took the morsel damn near for spite, and made a show of licking his lips before swallowing it. It tasted good. Everything here looked like it tasted amazing, and it was catered specifically to his likes. So that meant they were on an actual date. They were on a fucking date in the garden and Angel was getting fondled to within an inch of his unlife, and he couldn’t _take it anymore._

“Just _fuck_ me already!” the words burst forth before Angel even realized he’d said anything, and with a groan he clapped a hand over his mouth. Across from him, Alastor grinned wide, and sat back.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that with you being unable to keep to the terms of the deal, I simply cannot.”

He brought the fork to his own lips and licked it clean before setting it politely aside again. When he looked at Angel once more, the shadow between his legs started a relentless torment, taking Angel’s cock to the back of its proverbial throat; muscles that didn’t exist pressed against it, massaged, rubbed, squeezed him until he was panting helplessly again.

He forced himself to stare Alastor down. If he wasn’t gonna fuck him properly, then he’d at least watch Angel’s orgasm hit him and ache to give him another.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Alastor asked, as Angel’s breathing stuttered and he clenched all four fists in whatever fabric he could reach. “Are you overheating? Perhaps we should adjourn, get you in out of the hot sun.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Angel hissed through his teeth. Now that the bet was lost, now that he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he was damn sure gonna make sure he got _this_.

“We wouldn’t want you to catch heatstroke,” Alastor mused. The tendril inside Angel swelled suddenly, pressing insistently at his prostate. Angel made a noise, half moan, half startled gasp, and bent over his plate. 

If this was Alastor at his _mildest_ , without contact, with hardly any focus devoted to the task at all, what would being fucked by him be like? Angel could barely breathe, little whimpers tugging themselves free.

“Sweetheart,” Alastor said, his voice soft, silky, _dangerous_. “There are others, elsewhere in the garden. We wouldn’t want to disturb their peace. If you can’t behave, we shall have to end brunch early and try again another day.” 

Angel clapped a hand over his mouth, his glare icy when he met Alastor’s eyes. 

“That’s much better,” Alastor said, leaning closer, elbows to the table and chin set to his folded fingers. That way they were almost face to face. When Angel ducked his head, fingers white against the table, another tendril of shadow curled beneath his chin and lifted his face up again.

Angel’s entire form trembled, eyes half open. When another shadow wrapped around Angel’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his mouth, he didn’t even fight it. This was… this was _good_ . This was _amazing,_ actually. And if others heard him getting off because Alastor’s motherfucking _shadow_ was fingerfucking him and sucking him off, then they could get in line.

“Smile, sweetling,” Alastor purred, tilting his head just a little. Angel bared his teeth and damn near growled. “You’re never fully dressed without one.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Angel hissed. Alastor’s smile brightened, widened, and he looked down to the watch on the table. Beneath the table, the shadow shifted close enough to push Angel’s legs over its shoulders. Angel yelped and nearly fell off his chair.

“All bark and no bite,” Alastor snapped his teeth together, delighted, “my dear.”

Oh, Alastor was gonna see him bite, alright. Angel would make sure of it. But the words escaped him. Everything escaped him but the _feeling_ , the pressure and heat building in his belly, higher and higher, until--

“ _Oh!_ ” 

Pleasure peaked, crested, and Angel fell back in his chair, gasping. The shadow fucked him through it, so deep and so full that he felt like he would burst.

Touch receded slowly, creeping down his thighs, as though reluctant to leave. Angel felt sweaty, damp, sated. He needed a cigarette. Two cigarettes. And some dust. He cracked an eye open, grinning at Al.

“Angel?” Charlie’s voice carried from some unseen corner of the yard, obscured by hedges. “Are you alright?”

Angel nearly upended the table, and this time it had nothing to do with Alastor’s shadow. He yanked his skirt back down, straightened out the tablecloth where he’d clung to it. Alastor’s smile didn’t waver, in fact, it grew.

“Tch,” Angel clicked his tongue. _“Yeah?_ Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh just… you said you weren’t feeling up for our activity today and I just--”

“I’m fine,” Angel replied, keeping his eyes on Alastor, as Alastor looked over Angel’s shoulder to make sure that they weren’t snuck up on. Charlie said something else, but Angel wasn’t listening, it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered except for the fucking demon-sinner in front of him.

“You,” he whispered, “Are a conniving, manipulative little _shit--_ ”

“Oh, look at the time,” Alastor said, picking up his watch and inspecting it. “I’m sorry, my dear, I _do_ have things to attend to. We’ll have to catch up later.”

He rose from the table, looking utterly unruffled, not a hair out of place.

“ _Alastor_ ,” Angel hissed, “Don’t you dare--”

“You know,” Alastor continued, unphased, “this was _such_ a pleasant brunch. We’ll have to do it again some time. How does tomorrow sound?”

Angel gaped at him. Alastor’s grin was wide, almost malicious in his joy. 

“As I thought. I’ll come to call on you in the morning. Perhaps you might wear something _red_ , this time, hmm?”

He turned on his heel, marching down the walkway as if he hadn’t just used magic to fuck Angel within an inch of his unlife. Angel watched him in a daze.

Alastor’s coat tails were just vanishing around the corner when Angel shifted and realized he was no longer wearing his panties. He peeked under the table.

Alastor’s shadow winked at him and then dissipated, leaving no trace behind. And no panties.

“Alastor! You--"

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Love? Ping us over on [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/sw_writestuff), [TUMBLR](https://stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/), or [CURIOUSCAT](https://curiouscat.me/sw_writestuff)!
> 
>  _I wanna boy who doesn't like to go out shopping  
>  I wanna boy who thinks it sexy when my lipstick bleeds  
> I wanna boy who can go all night without stopping  
> I wanna boy who knows exactly what he needs_  
> \- PWR BTTM "I Wanna Boi"


End file.
